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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469983">he is coerced to look</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWhiteCrossI/pseuds/IWhiteCrossI'>IWhiteCrossI</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elite (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carla is in here as well if you squint haha, F/M, also fucked my way up to the top by lana del rey and ms mr's- dark doo wop for the main scene, also listen to erlend øye- la prima estate when reading this, and clubz-golpes bajos for the end, but it's pretty fucked up I guess, definitely in that order, god this idea just wouldn't let me go I don't know how to tag this, i am way too elaborate, oddly romantic, oh and also spoiler alert: nobody dies lol, these two are the death of me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:27:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWhiteCrossI/pseuds/IWhiteCrossI</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Polo takes a sharp breath.</p><p>“Go ahead,” he whispers as the glass digs in a little deeper. </p><p>She hiccups again, the make-shift weapon still in her battered hand. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>Polo sighs wearily, as though he’s now truly had enough of this conversation.  Of this life, maybe. Almost tenderly, his hand falls near her collarbone in defeat and his thumb brushes up against the delicate skin there. </p><p>“Come on. Kill me.” </p><p> </p><p>A different take on Lu &amp; Polo's bathroom confrontation in 3 x 08.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucrecia "Lu" Montesinos Hendrich/Leopoldo "Polo" Benavent Villada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>he is coerced to look</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this idea just wouldn't let me go. I saw a gifset of THAT scene on Tumblr a few days ago and after talking with @cupcakesarebetter, (thank you for inspiring me and for writing all this AMAZING fic for ELITE fandom btw!!)  I just couldn't help myself and had to write a different take on what happened between Lu and Polo in that bathroom. They just had too much chemistry in that scene, jfc.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>(s)he is coerced to look </em>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">or </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>The Greatest Actors Keep on Acting Offstage </em>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers watching her: drinking margaritas on a yacht, dancing to J. Balvin at fundraisers hosted by their parents or walking in the midst of a field full of peonies with Carla in tow and a polaroid camera always nearby, trying to capture each other’s best angles for Instagram. He was always watching her. Polo was never sure whether she noticed, but sometimes, when Carla was nowhere to be seen, Lu would regard him with a haughty little stare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Except during Guzmán’s particularly wild sixteenth birthday party, that was the only time she faltered. Lu had been brazen the whole night, whirling and twirling around the place in her poison green dress like an evil little mermaid — bossing around the bar staff, nagging Guzmán, making a couple of slightly more fragile girls in her class cry— Polo couldn’t stop himself from looking on. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She was repulsive. She was resplendent. She was — </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Suddenly, Lu was in front of him, nails digging into his arm for balance as she leaned up on her tiptoes, the words an unpleasant slur against the shell of his ear: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Stop staring at me, it’s pathetic.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And then she was gone again. Even back then, Lu had a degree of ruthlessness about her. People used to think that Polo was scared of Carla, that he was a puppet who spent his whole adolescence under the beautiful marquesita’s thumb, but that was false. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu was the only one Polo ever really feared. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">____ </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu follows Polo inside the bathroom because she is stupid. It is a stupid idea. She almost stumbles in her heels near the entrance (hmm, maybe she really did have too much champagne) and he doesn’t even notice her at first, clearly too focused on drying off his shirt. Lu wrinkles her nose. That fabric is not even pretty, saving it is a waste of time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Get out of here, Polo,” she finds herself whispering and his gaze lifts up from the washbasin to finally look at her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo’s eyes are bloodshot. He looks so tired, defeated, <em>done</em>; and yet he still scowls at her, even says something about <em>knowing</em> that he isn’t welcome here, which Lu quickly drowns out, doesn’t even bother listening to half of his words. God, she has no patience for this snivelling little brat until — </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What the fuck did I ever do to you, Lu? Huh?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo looks at her, waiting for an answer and she feels herself waver a bit under his glare but outwardly, Lu lets out a bitter chuckle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “And what about Carla?”she asks him. “And Ander? <em>Guzmán…</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The last name leaves her mouth in a whimper. They stare at each other but Polo’s face is unreadable, almost blank. <em>He doesn’t care. </em>Polito has never bothered to deal with all the damage that Marina’s murder had wreaked on them through this past school year and Lu feels cold fury stir at her insides. She raises up the neck of the bottle, pointing it at Polo’s chest. Suddenly, his hand flies out, grabbing a hold of the bottle and crushing her fingers under his closed fist. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu gasps, looking down at their entwined hands but she refuses to be scared, stepping closer instead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You have no fucking idea… about the kind of hell you are putting Guzmán through<em>,”</em> she whimpers again, hand shaking around the bottle and Polo has the gall to actually laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Guzmán,” he tells her after a moment, hot breath fanning her face, “does not love you… Lu, stop grovelling for once in your fucking life.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo roughly pushes away from her then, clearly tired of her antics and ready to leave the bathroom. Lucrecia is not prepared to let him go so easily, however, seizing a hold of his arm and pulling Polo back towards her. They both struggle for a moment, breathing heavily, and the neck of the champagne bottle scratches at Lu’s glittery dress. Polo’s hands are warm against her sides. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “But you are an expert at grovelling, no? You are!” she screams at him. “Until they leave you for someone better, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “At least Carla loved me at one point,” he snarls back. “But has anyone ever loved you, Lu?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She hiccups and feels the taste of alcohol flood her mouth. God, maybe she shouldn’t have provoked him. But it’s too late. Polo stares down at her, expression pitiful. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Did you think that by being the most stylish, the richest and at the top of the class, everyone would love you?” he hisses. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Shut up,” Lu mutters, eyes transfixed on his. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “They envy you…” Polo taunts and he is very close now, face only inches away from hers. “Fear you… despise you…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Shut up!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “But nobody loves you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He says it so matter-of-factly, lips brushing softly against her cheek as he delivers the final blow: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You are a pathetic little girl… and that’s why you’re alone.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Stop it!” she screeches and shoves against him. The neck of the bottle slips from her hand, clattering to the floor, and they both fall backwards, Polo’s shoulders hitting the wall behind him. A remaining glass shard in Lu’s hand cuts into her own palm and she winces. Little droplets of blood trickle onto Polo’s shirt — <em>drip</em>,<em> drip</em>, <em>drip</em>. Almost mesmerised, Lu pushes the shard up against his chest, the sharper edge right next to his heart now. It scrapes the skin a little. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo takes a sharp breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Go ahead,” he whispers as the glass digs in a little deeper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She hiccups again, the make-shift weapon still in her battered hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo sighs wearily, as though he’s now truly had enough of this conversation.Of this life, maybe. Almost tenderly, his hand falls near her collarbone in defeat and his thumb brushes up against the delicate skin there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Come on. Kill me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu stares up at him, shaking her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What? What are you saying?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo’s hand moves up on her neck a little, eyes frantically staring into hers as he pleads: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>Kill me</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Those words, the insistence behind them, his<em> closeness — </em>all of it is so jarring that Lu chokes on air and tries to take a step back. But her feet feel like lead and one of Polo’s hands is still grasping onto her shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I… I can’t,” Lu whispers.“I can’t, Polo.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Both of them are shaking now and for a moment, Lucrecia feels like she can’t breathe. Then, Polo’s harsh, disappointed laughter cuts through the silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu looks up at him through her lashes in disbelief, gaze tear-stained and her blood boils. That one tiny glass shard is still in her hands and she wants to carve up his face with it. He is deranged and she wants to escape, wants to leave, go, just get the fuck — </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Fuck you, Polo,” she spits in his face, nose almost brushing his. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> For the first time during that night, Polo flinches and the room grows quiet, except for their soft breathing. Lucrecia just glares at him, not moving. Then, she gasps as Polo’s fingers skim against the underside of her jaw experimentally and he tilts up her chin roughly, probably leaving bruises. He is too close. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What did you say?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu’s eyes take on an unpleasant, poisonous gleam as she repeats: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I said… fuck you, Polo.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Pathetic,” he snarls against her lips and then he’s kissing her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu doesn’t even have time to recoil. Polo kisses her in a way that is almost painful, teeth digging into her bottom lip, hand still gripping her jaw. The final piece of glass drops from her bloodied hand and Lu almost trips on all these shards, stumbling further into Polo as her hands land on his chest, leaving bloody handprints in their wake. He mumbles something indignant when Lu accidentally steps on his foot with her stiletto and pulls back a little. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They stare at each other for a moment and she opens her mouth, angry retort ready on her tongue: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What… makes you think… that <em>I</em> would ever fuck a murderer?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo’s entire face remains nonplussed, except for his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Oh, shut the fuck up, Lu,” is his only response before his lips are on hers again. This is ridiculous. Their lips don’t fit together at all: he is too brash, too brutal, and yet, somehow it works. Polo bends down a little, trailing kisses down her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone and Lu actually keens. <em>Fuck. </em>She feels her cheeks heat up in shame and looks down at Polo. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I told you to be quiet,” he says after a beat, eyes glinting with ill-intentioned mirth, then wraps a hand around her throat, squeezing not too gently. She feels rather than sees herself being turned around and pushed against the wall, her back flush against the cool tiles of the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>God, this is so fucked up</em>, Lu thinks and yet she can’t help but wrap her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Polo’s hand dips between them, stroking the skin of her inner thigh and Lu suppresses a moan against his neck. Her breathing hitches as his hand trails higher up her leg and she barely notices as Polo hikes her dress up in one shift motion until he pulls back with a little groan: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’re not wearing anything underneath.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu tugs at the hair on the back of his neck, barely managing a reply: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “This dress is uncomfortable as it is.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She really shouldn’t provoke him so much. Polo tugs at her puffy satin sleeve, cursing, until the fabric rips and gives way, the custom-made, glittery Antonio Berardi dress falling to the floor in a marred heap. Lu hisses, standing there naked, shivering when his warm hands meet her bare, cold skin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Take off your own fucking clothes off as well.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo shakes his head and grabs a fistful of her hair that has fallen out from her perfectly coiffed up-do, pressing her thighs further apart with his left hand and forcing his mouth hot and heavy on hers. Lu gasps and mutters and moans as his slick fingers slide between her folds, curling inside her. Polo finger-fucks her slowly, almost absent-mindedly, all the while kissing the column of her neck. It’s maddening and she hates him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Just fuck me,” Lu whispers, trying to push his hand away and unbuckle his belt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo’s hand stills inside her and he looks up at her, a little smirk on his features: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Beg.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He flicks her clit for emphasis, still fucking smirking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You heard me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She grinds against Polo’s hand, nails digging into his shoulders. This is a new low, even for her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>Beg.</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Just take off your stupid shirt and fuck me.<em> Please,” </em>Lu finally growls into his shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo almost fucking <em>hums </em>in contentment, pulling his fingers out of her and unbuckling his belt. He unzips his pants and pushes them down while Lu frantically tears at his shirt buttons, yanking it off in such a violent way that Polo later swears she almost dislocated his jaw that night. He lifts her up and they stagger backwards towards the sinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu has almost no time to steady herself on the countertop before he pushes inside her. They both gasp and she wraps her legs around Polo’s waist, hands treading through his soft hair. He grunts as she twists her hips, buries his head in the hollow of her neck, one of his hands gripping her left breast. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They have no time to be gentle. She claws at his skin, pressing her body impossibly closer to get more friction. He mutters something incomprehensible and seizes both of her wrists in his hand. Lu shudders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Stay still,” he mumbles but she’s too far gone to listen. Polo thrusts inside her unsparingly and Lu barely manages to keep up. Fuck, she’s close. All it takes is for him to sink his hand lower and finger her clit a couple of more times and she comes, whole body trembling in an unbridled, brief moment of insanity. She slumps against him, unable to move. Polo picks up the pace and keeps fucking her for another minute, supporting Lu’s exhausted body as she slowly comes back to her senses, before he roughly pushes inside her one final time and comes as well, muttering something that sounds an awful lot like ‘<em>fuck, Lu… fuck</em>’ under his breath. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">___ </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They are both clutching onto each other, motionless and breathing heavily, him still inside her. Polo’s fingers start to draw patterns on her back and Lucrecia lets out a soft gasp, kissing his cheek almost tenderly. She doesn’t know why. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m sorry,” Polo whispers after a beat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The words cut against her skin and Lu recoils, elbowing his naked chest to put some distance between them. Her and Polo stare at each other for a moment, his eyes heavy with something, something almost wistful, and she feels her lips curl. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’re sorry?” A quiet chuckle. “What a concept.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She pushes her body off the countertop, landing softly on her feet as Polo pulls his pants back up, fiddling with the zipper. Lu sees the remains of her dress on the floor and nearly groans: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Great, I have nothing to wear now.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I could lend you my shirt,” Polo offers almost immediately and Lu rolls her eyes at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’re joking, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She picks up the ruined fabric and pulls it back on. The sleeve is completely ruined and Lu tangles it around her shoulders as a kind of half-scarf, hoping that it will somehow conceal her indiscretion. She probably needs to just order a cab and go home. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo regards her reflection in the mirror, watching her fiddle with the fabric and not saying a word. He has shrugged his own clothes back on and even looks somewhat presentable now to Lu’s chagrin: well, if it weren’t for the specks of blood on his shirt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She eventually gives up on the dress and their gazes meet in the mirror, him standing just a few feet behind her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “No one can know about this,” Lu whispers, eyes flashing, trying to put as much vitriol into her voice as possible. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo inclines his head towards her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I won’t tell anyone.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu nods curtly, tearing her eyes away from the mirror and turning around, ready to leave. She almost stumbles into Polo again but it can’t be because she’s drunk; the burden of what they just did has certainly sobered her up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Lu, wait,” Polo calls after her before she can make her way out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She turns to face him like quicksand, clearly not having expected him to say, to do any more than what he already has. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>What? </em>What do you want now?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I… I… just wanted to tell you that earlier tonight…my mothers…they decided to reinstate the scholarship. To Columbia,” he tells her, his old stutter suddenly back in full force. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu looks at him, eyebrows lifting up slightly as a sliver of something passes over her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “The least you could do,” she retorts then, before making her way out of the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">___ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It is an early summer night in mid-August and the rays of sun are warm on Polo’s face. He is sitting alone on the terrace of his favourite restaurant, a glass of wine by his side, and life is good. Polo looks down at the passerby, chattering loudly but moving sluggishly in the blistering heat. Nothing really compares to the summertime in Madrid. It’s been years since he’s been back here. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo smiles to himself, flipping through the menu even though he already knows what he wants to order — the <em>pisto manchego</em> here is to die for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Suddenly, there is a commotion behind him. Polo hears the clattering of chairs being pushed around and a loud voice declaring something in a distinct Mexican accent: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>Perdoname</em>, <em>querida</em>, but these are not the seats we reserved.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He doesn’t need to look to know that Lu has just walked in, so Polo takes his time. He doesn’t even turn around really, only fidgets with his watch as the waitress brings him his food, then takes a few bites. The speakers vibrate with traditional French street music in the background and the soft evening breeze ruffles his hair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Soon enough, Lu glides past his chair, dressed head to toe in black, and Polo is suddenly reminded of all these summers in Biarritz when he used to watch fifteen-year old Lu flirt with men twice her age just for fun. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He has a few seconds before she notices that he’s there, before he sees Lu crane her neck and turn ever so subtly, gaze finally landing on him. She blanches, spinning around to face him fully and Polo can’t help but feel stupidly amused. Suddenly, he wants to say something absurdly proficient so badly, (<em>well, isn’t it the woman who almost killed me once?</em> comes to mind) but in the end, lips tugging up at the corners, he simply says: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>Hey, Lu.</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Lu returns the greeting with the tiniest hint of a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Polo.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She squares her shoulders and flashes a shark-like smile then, stepping closer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Well, may I sit down?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Polo nods. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please let me know what you think in the comments, I feel that this is honestly the most outlandish thing that I have ever written and I would so love to hear all of your thoughts! </p><p>Also, message me on Tumblr: @sheishookedtothesilverscreen.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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